


Fenders Hell

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: Treats [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Arguing, Biting, Bodahn makes a cameo, Come as Lube, Dom!Hawke, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Hawke the overprotective Dom, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Makeup Sex, Masochism, Misunderstandings, Multi, Oral Sex, Painplay, Relationship Negotiation, Sadism, Smut, Sub!Anders, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, my characters ran wild, over-negotiated kink, so it will still be fun, suddenly angst outweighs smut?, switch!Fenris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 07:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9874343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: Fenders hell – (1) a state of being obsessed with the Fenris/Anders pairing(2) the process of understanding Fenris and Anders, making them fuck anyway, andwatching them fightseeing how they react(3) Hawke’s bedroom





	1. Fenders Hell-o

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU where Fenris and Anders are trying, for Hawke’s sake. I'd like to say the sex is that good, but I'll let you be the judge.  
> When I wrote the first Treats, I thought these three would get together twice, maybe three times before (spoiler) Anders ends DA:2. Then I kept finding interesting dialog, especially between Fenris and Anders, and the time between Treats and the end of the game kept expanding. Somehow, I currently have seven drafts in my folder! So, for the purposes of this work, the shameless plot device in Treats really works. Great sex is literally saving Thedas… for a little while.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Anders and Fenris kick Hawke out of the room.

Later the same week, they talk about nothing and sip wine while Hawke smiles his fucking smile and Fenris undresses both of them with his eyes. _Apparently he’s willing to build anticipation tonight._ That’s fine, because it lets him avoid…

“Anders, I hope you brought your invitation?”

He’s tempted to tease Hawke and say he hadn’t, but he’s too nervous.

“Yes, but first I need to talk,” Anders says instead. “With Fenris.”

###

 _Interesting._ Fenris considers Anders’ determined look and fights the tug of lust at the mention of Anders’ ‘invitation.’ _This is more important._

Hawke gestures, but instead of talking they wait. Fenris presses his lips together.

Anders sighs. “Alone, Hawke.”

“You two? Alone? I’d rather not see my house in flames.” Hawke smiles, but there’s no crinkle around his eyes.

“We should be up-front. If you’re listening, Fenris might say what you want to hear. Fade, _I_ might edit myself.” Tendrils of copper-red hair escape and frame Anders’ face.

Fenris lets the implication about who’s more reliable slide.

Hawke shifts in his chair, frowning. “I’m not that scary.” He turns to Fenris for back-up.

“You aren’t,” Fenris nods, “but you would try to help. We need to work things out ourselves.”

Hawke grips his knees and takes a breath. “Do you appreciate how nerve-wracking this request is?”

Fenris allows an eyebrow to arch. Anders’ head jerks back, eyes wide, before Hawke continues.

“Both people I fuck asking to talk”—

Fenris snorts.—“about you”—

—“Thanks for that!—to talk _about me_ behind my back.”

“Hawke,” Fenris says as he glances at Anders, “if I’m reading the room correctly, we all want this to continue. Whatever this is. Breakfast talks and these formal negotiations are a start, but you weren’t wrong that first morning.” Fenris’ gesture includes himself, Anders, and Hawke. “We _will_ implode if we’re not careful.”

Anders nods. “For once, the elf is right.” He picks up his wine glass.

Fenris rolls his eyes. “Thanks for that, _Mage._ ”

Anders pulls a face.

“You’re not helping your case, children,” Hawke points out.

They both shrug.

“Unless we’re strengthening it,” Anders says, fidgeting with the stem of his glass. Fenris can see the wine legs form inside the glass. “We need practice, Hawke.”

“Fine. You’re right. It’s just—I _do_ want to help. You both mean the world to me. Having you here… it’s too good to be true.” Hawke grins again. “Besides, I’ve designated this room for talking. What if you suck face when I can’t stop you?”

Anders sputters on his wine.

“I have no idea what Anders has in mind,” Fenris says and gestures across the table, “but if we get physical, we’ll invite you… when we’re ready.”

“Tease.” _He’s stalling. How to get him moving?_

“You love it.” Fenris looks for ideas at Anders, who tilts his head inquiringly. He considers, and Anders bites his lower lip, raises his eyebrows, and tilts his head with a glance toward Hawke.

Fenris’ lip twitches, and he nods, not clear exactly what he’s agreeing to, as Hawke says, “What was that?”

“Hawke.” Anders gets up, rounds the low table, and kneels gracefully beside Fenris, resting his cheek on one knee. “The sooner you leave… the sooner you can come back.” Hawke’s eyes follow Anders’ hand as it drifts up Fenris’ leg. Fenris smirks and allows his eyelids to droop as the hand caresses his calf over leather leggings. It’s _good_.

Hawke hisses. “This! This is my fear!”

“Is ‘fear’ honestly the right word?” Fenris opens his eyes again and pets Anders’ hair. Anders smiles against his leg.

“We’ll stop when you leave.” Anders runs a hand over Fenris’ knee.

“You’ll break my parley room.” Hawke’s leaning forward, eyes wide: clearly tempted to risk it.

“Only if you stay, Hawke.” Fenris allows his hand to hover above Anders’ head. Anders’ hand pauses, too.

“Fine.” He gets up to stalk out. “Play nice.” He pulls the door behind him.

“It’s still a parlor!” Anders calls as it closes.

###

The sight of his boss sidetracks Bodahn. Hawke’s not with his… good friends. Instead, he’s sitting at the desk by the fireplace, glancing behind him at the parlor door. _What the blazes are they doing?_ He remembers Fenris sprawled over the stairs a few days ago. Bodahn is pretty sure they never—that—in the parlor. Not that’s any of his business, mind you.

“Is everything all right, messere?” Bodahn dips into a bow.

Hawke sets his quill on the table with a snap. “It’s fine.” Nothing sounds fine.

“I see, ser. If I might inquire, will Messere Anders be taking a turn in the main hall on his next visit?”

Hawke barks a laugh. “Not him, Bodahn. He spends enough time alone.” That laugh reminds Bodahn of the Hero of Ferelden’s pained laughter filling the camp. Best not to prod.

“Very good.” Bodahn keeps his tone light and bows again before he continues on his way, still mystified.

###

Fenris gives Anders’ hair a final stroke and says, “I assume your idea is not to ‘break’ Hawke’s… parlor?”

Anders stands slowly enough not to be insulting. “No,” he says and brushes imaginary dust off his robes, “but, well, I’m sorry for breakfast that first time. And thank you for giving Hawke and me time alone last time.”

“It was nothing.” Fenris waves a hand. “This also teased Hawke; don’t forget that.”

“Take it as you like, then,” Anders snips. He returns to his chair. “Shall we?”

Fenris nods. “Start your questions.” He leans back and crosses one ankle over the knee Anders had pressed his cheek against.

Anders takes a breath and glances over Fenris’ shoulder, at their armor behind him. “I love Hawke.”

“Of course.” He leans to grab his wine glass. “The same goes for me.”

Anders nods, meeting Fenris’ eyes again. “What are we?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Don’t give me that, Fenris.” Anders tenses and leans forward. “What _are_ we. To each other. I love Hawke, but sure as raw Fade is green I don’t love you. No offense.”

Fenris waves his glass, but the wine doesn’t slosh over the edge. “None taken. You’re cute, but no.”

“Wait. Cute?” Anders’ voice is… higher than usual.

Fenris levels his gaze. “You didn’t want to break Hawke’s parlor.”

“Better compliments than ‘cute’ wouldn’t break anything,” he huffs.

“You’re cute enough I could leave your robes in shreds tonight.” Fenris smirks over his glass as Anders freezes. “Alas, I’ve no clue what Hawke has planned.” He takes a sip as Anders blinks into motion.

“Ah. Yes. Alas, alackaday. Uh, what were we talking about?”

 _He liked that idea._ “What to call each other.”

“Yes.” Anders rewakes and continues. “My first instinct is ‘rivals.’ If that’s the case…”

“Anders, he meant what he said: it’s important we’re _both_ here. I can understand why you… Kaffas.” Fenris puts his feet on the ground and leans forward, elbows on thighs, and looks up at Anders again. “He left you for me, but he thought you wanted him to.”

“I never thought he’d _do_ it,” Anders grumbles, leaning back.

“From what I heard, you declared yourself too dangerous. _Repeatedly._ He thought he was taking a _hint_.” Fenris sits up again. “And yet, he loves you. He was respectful, but monogamy is the safe assumption. He risked losing me when he suggested you join us.”

“I appreciate the reassurance.” Anders shrugs. “Maybe I needed it. But I was going to say, ‘If we’re rivals, I’m out.’ I don’t make him happy like you do.”

Fenris blinks. _This is unexpected._ “You would clear the way for me?”

Anders gives a pained smile. “Don’t I always?”

Fenris remembers countless fireballs thrown ahead of him, knocking enemies insensible for his blade.

“You do,” he admits quietly. He considers the offer for a heartbeat, not least what it would do to Hawke… then meets Anders’ eyes. “Haven’t I said I would enjoy tearing your clothes off?”

“Fuck if I wouldn’t enjoy that, too,” Anders breathes. Then his lust gives way to frustration: “What does that make us? Fuck buddies? That doesn’t touch why we’re here: Hawke.”

“Precisely,” Fenris deadpans. “If it weren’t for Hawke, we’d be in my mansion or your filthy clinic.”

Anders glares. “You _mansion_ is just as filthy. More so.”

“Sorry,” Fenris raises his hands. “That was uncalled for. I meant… But you’re right; we wouldn’t be together without Hawke.”

Exasperated, Anders splits his ponytail to pull it tight then tugs the tie. “Why is this okay?” he blurts. “Why are you sure Hawke won’t leave for me?” He lifts off his chair for a moment and rubs his palms on his leggings.

Fenris suppresses an eye roll.  _How did this man survive his horrible, torturous Circle?_  He can read Anders' agitation like words on a page. _Can’t hurt to answer._ “You may have pushed him away, but I _left_ Hawke. I had… reasons to leave. Never mind. The point is, he waited for me. Nearly three years of blowing off steam with brothel visits, nothing more.”

“Are you sure?” Anders snipes, “I hear they’re quite good.”

“That.” Fenris sets down his wine glass, perhaps too hard. “Vishante kaffas, what is that.”

“What are you…?”

Fenris stabs his hand through the air. “Don’t play the innocent. Why the Void do I get your flaming hostility?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Anders sets his glass down too carefully.

“Explain it,” Fenris growls.

“Words don’t erase an insult.” _Is that a sneer?_

“Insults _are_ words.”

“Not entirely. You think you’re better because you live in Hightown? You’re not. What have you done for anyone? You’re an elf out for yourself, always running. You disgust me.” His nose wrinkles and his upper lip curls, but there’s tension around the eyes.

A remembered conversation calms Fenris. “No, I don’t disgust you. You’re _jealous._ ” He sits stock-straight, waving his arm.

“What?” Anders snaps.

“You told Isabela before the Qunari you miss being selfish,” Fenris says just loudly enough to carry.

“Ugh. That was years ago.” Anders launches out of his chair to pace a wide circle, stare through the wall, and return to his seat. “You could accomplish so much. You’re wasting yourself in that mansion.”

“I won’t always, but for now I’m building my life there. Also at the Hanged Man with our friends. And here, with you and Hawke.”

“You’re building your life with us?” Anders shakes his head, staring through the table. “Careful, Elf, that sounds like love.”

Fenris snorts. “I assure you, it’s not for you. You’re part of Hawke’s happiness, nothing more.”

“Good,” Anders says, but he doesn’t seem reassured. “The other day, when we finished…”

“What?” Fenris prompts. He remembers tangling his fingers with Anders’, but he refuses to make a mountain out of a mole hill. _Do they have moles in southern Thedas?_

“You were… affectionate. I wasn’t sure what you meant by it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s sex. Sex-induced affection, nothing permanent, Mage.”

“Good.” This time he’s more confident. “I’d hate for you to get… attached.”

“I’m not, but… what does it matter? If I felt affection, you would have no obligation to return it.”

“You’ve clearly never been in love—before,” Anders quickly adds as Fenris’ hackles rise. “One-sided affection? It could tear you apart. You’re the sadist. I _don’t_ get off on causing others pain.”

“Point taken, but I don’t…” Fenris shakes his head. “…want to discuss the pain I like to cause. You couldn’t ignore it?”

“Could you ignore it if Hawke bound me?”

Fenris’ head jerks back. “That’s different.”

“I’m telling you it’s not,” Anders snaps.

Fenris gets angry at this disregard—again!—of his experience in Tevinter, but he remembers something Hawke once told him. _You and Anders had different experiences, but with similar results._

“Similar… results?” Fenris echoes. He’s trying.

Anders’ hard glare softens. Fenris didn’t know that could happen outside the bedroom. Without Hawke.

Anders nods. “Exactly.”

Fenris is tempted, but no. “Maybe later we can talk about that, but tonight we’re keeping Hawke waiting. Shall we pick up your question?”

“Yes, that might be best. Maker, this relationship isn’t easy, is it?” Anders offers a wan smile.

“Is anything if it’s worthwhile?” Fenris glimpses the fire before continuing. “We’re both Hawke’s boyfriends, but we’re not rivals. You’re my partner’s paramour… metamour?”

Anders winces. “Too Orlesian.”

“True enough.” Fenris’ lip stretches at one corner. _Fereldens and their obsession with Orlais._ “Co-boyfriends? I’m not in love with you, but you _are_ my friend. Friend-with-benefits. Too long?”

“Same problem as fuck buddies.” Anders smiles. “I like ‘co-boyfriends,’ if you don’t object.”

“Hm.” Fenris sips his wine. He’s been spewing ideas, but this one fits. “Yes, it’ll do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vishante kaffas – Tevene for ‘you shit on my tongue’  
> Some easy relationships are very worthwhile; Fenris hasn’t had those.  
> This was supposed to be a quick conversation before negotiation establishing themselves as co-boyfriends, not a whole chapter. Unfortunately, Fenris and Anders misunderstand each other all the time. They also speak carelessly to each other, which doesn’t help. Add Fenris’ classism and Anders’ racism, and yeah. They argued.  
> Anyway, I love comments, but I know how hard it is for me to comment on smut, so have a non-smut chapter! Comment away!  
> 


	2. Fenders Heck?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonight’s kink negotiation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenders heck – a state wherein you and/or Fenris and Anders are recovering from Fenders hell (see work summary for definition)
> 
> Can you spot the nod to a common fanfic trope in the second paragraph? <3

Bodahn asks to fetch refreshments for the hundredth time, and Hawke does. Not. Snap. He’s _trying_ to order supplies for another Wounded Coast trek, but he keeps thinking about the men in his parley room—fine, his parlor. _They disagree on everything. How badly will this go without me?_

Anders opens the door and spots Hawke. Then he smiles. Hawke releases a strangled breath and leaves the last few rune orders for morning.

In the parlor, he settles into his chair. Much better. This chair is comfortable, and his men are… pleased. _This world does indeed contain endless possibilities._

“All right, what’s the conclusion?”

“Fenris and I are not running away together,” Anders declares as Fenris swings his feet over one arm of his own chair to face Hawke.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Anders is kidding.” Fenris is dismissive, but not hostile. “That wasn’t on the table.”

“It _was_ an easy decision,” Anders admits, shrugging.

“Not least because you’re an ass.” Fenris digs. _That’s more what—Wait. Andraste’s sweet excrement, he’s smiling!_

Anders hides his smile in his wine. “Takes one to know one,” he mutters.

Their sniping is lighthearted. It doesn’t escalate.

_Communication might not be horrible._

“We’ve decided we’re co-boyfriends,” Anders announces as he lowers his glass.

Hawke is careful not to weight or color his words: “Okay. What’s it mean?”

“We’re both your boyfriends,” Fenris traces his glass in a circle, “but not each other’s.”

“Oh. Good?” _Simple enough. What does this change?_

“We know where we stand, Hawke. It’s good.” Anders sounds concerned that he does not understand.

Then Hawke sees it: they decided together. They _agreed_. “Okay.” He smiles. “I’m glad it’s helped.”

Anders digs out his collar, sets it on Hawke’s table. “You requested my invitation?”

Fenris smiles into his wine.

Hawke laughs. “My flow is gone tonight.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No,” Hawke waves, “this was important.” He watches Anders settle an elbow on the chair’s arm, chin in hand. _Whether he gets a key or not, he’s not a guest anymore._

Hawke grins before he says: “Tonight, I want to watch. Not watch then join you: I want to see one or both of you cum, without touching. That’s all I want, so I’ll take requests.”

Fenris grins. “Do you like your robes, Anders?” _A little… off topic._

Anders glances down. “These robes, I like. Hawke, do you have clothes you don’t need?”

“I probably do?” _They’re both here for me._ But they’re talking about something Hawke doesn’t understand.

“I’d like to borrow them and let Fenris wreck them.”

That rinses his glimmer of possessive jealousy away in a pleasant wash of lust. _Talk about fun to watch._ “I could find something,” he allows, and his men grin. “Is this what took so long?”

“No.” Fenris flicks his fingers. “The idea came up by coincidence, and Anders liked it.”

“We took so long because we were arguing, Hawke.” Anders says this slowly, smiling.

Hawke laughs. “Of course you were. My apologies. I’ve no wish to open _old_ wounds. Any other requests?”

“I usually prefer giving it, but tonight I’d like oral, if you’re willing.” Anders nods to Fenris.

“Could be fun. Do I get to bite you, too?” Fenris smiles.

_Andraste’s mercy, they’re having fun._

“You won’t bite me there, will you?”

Fenris’ head twitches to one side. “Do you want me to?”

“I—would you be careful?” Anders surprises Hawke (and perhaps himself) with his willingness to try this.

“Of course.” Fenris smirks. “Hawke wouldn’t let me damage his pet. Much.”

“Damn, that would… really hurt.” But Anders’ breathing picks up.

Fenris’ teeth show. On a man with a subtle smile, this toothy grin is indecent. “I know. Do. You. Want. Me. To.” Considering what they’re talking about, maybe a little indecency is called for.

Hawke sips his wine, savoring it.

“Nothing—not much. Just… a little? And not till I’m…”

Fenris smiles, catching his meaning. “A little pain once you’re foggy with lust will remind you I’m here.”

“Ungh.” Anders gulps.

“You will say your safe word _immediately_ if it’s too much.”

Anders gives Hawke a perplexed look. “That’s what they’re for.”

Hawke laughs. That first mistake, the marks on Anders’ neck, was early enough in their relationship they’d done these talks, or an abbreviated version, nearly every time they’d had sex. They’d learned so much since then.

“How much should I push?” Fenris’ brow furrows, and he rolls his wine glass between his palms.

“Not much, not on this. For tonight, I’m just… curious. It could be great. It could be way too much. If I like it, you can push me another night.”

“So, wait, can I repeat it, or am I limited to once?”

Anders considers. “Pain takes several shots to get really good for me. Like Hawke says, I’ll safe-word if needed. Just not too hard tonight.”

Fenris nods, satisfied, and Hawke fights _not_ to say how hot it is that Anders wants it enough, trusts Fenris enough, to take a chance. _If I point it out his trust might disappear like fog in sunshine._

“So, Fenris, requests for your orgasm?” Hawke feels like a waiter. _You’d like the steak, very good ser. The clams with cream sauce? It’s excellent._

“Who says Anders gets to cum in my mouth? I want him to cum with my fingers in his ass.”

“Ssshit, Fenris.”

Hawke grins. “That sounds like a ‘fuck, yes.’ Hm… So no preference tonight?”

“Not particularly. You have an idea?”

“Yes. I’d like you to make Anders cum on you.” Hawke smiles as both men groan. “Would you mind?”

Fenris says, “No, that’s good,” and swallows the last of his wine.

“After that, I’d like to stroke you off.”

“You don’t want to watch the whole time?”

“I said I want to watch someone cum. Okay, really, this idea gets me hot and bothered.” Hawke leans forward and lets his eyes rake over Fenris.

“I like that. What about you?”

“I can take care of myself tonight. I won’t last longer than Anders.” Just discussing it has Hawke half hard.

Fenris shrugs. “I doubt I would, either, if my hands weren’t busy.”

“Do we have this figured out?”

Anders and Fenris nod.

“Okay, here’s how we’ll start. Fenris, you’ll wait here. We’ll get Anders disposable clothes. When he’s dressed, I’ll send him to get you. Don’t start until you’re with me again. Safe words?”

“Wiggams.”

“Jester.”

“Ketojan.” Hawke decides to review the rules tonight, but Anders sucks in a breath as the leather collar touches his skin. Hawke pauses. “Tell me.”

“I’m actually here again. I wasn’t sure we’d make it this far,” Anders says.

Hawke smiles and murmurs, “But we have.”

Anders smiles back gently.

Hawke continues their ritual, buckling and checking the collar as he says, “This collar makes you my pet. Our pet. Pets don’t speak without permission. You can always use your safe word. We’ll take care of you. If you’re good, you’ll be rewarded. If you’re bad, you’ll be punished. Agreed?” Hawke casts his eye at Fenris, too, for form’s sake.

“Yes.”

“Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the rest of this work written (and maybe a bonus chapter), it all just needs a final polish. My goal is one chapter per day, but that might speed up on the weekend.   
> Fair warning: all appearances to the contrary, the next chapter is not the sex part. Believe me, I tried. I blame Fenris.


	3. Nope Still Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fenris and Anders take turns losing their void-damned minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks good, right? Sexy negotiation complete, safe-words given, collar in place. Nope, still Fenders Hell. I’m sorry, I wasn’t planning this, it just happened. I let my characters do what they want, even the subs. Skip this plotty chapter if you’re here for the smut. (Next chapter should be up some time tomorrow.)
> 
> A huge shout-out and thank you to [TurboNerd](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TurboNerd/pseuds/TurboNerd) for beta-ing on the fly. (As always, mistakes and such are my doing, never the beta's!)

Fenris glances up from the book he had been perusing. _Kaffas._

Anders is wearing a thin, undyed cotton shirt with a wide neck. It’s set off by his black collar and a broad matching belt cinching around his bean-pole waist. They found a pair of unfashionably loose crimson cotton pants, and the brilliant red subtly marks him as Hawke’s.

“You took long enough,” Fenris snaps to cover his distraction. _How well will that weave tear?_ He imagines the sound of ripping fabric.

Anders ducks his head, playing his part, and the large shirt slips, giving Fenris a glimpse of the teeth-mark on his shoulder. Anders turns to go. Fenris feels an impulse of _need_ , and Anders takes one step, two as Fenris chooses his words and summons the right tone of voice.

“Freeze, Pet.” Fenris thrills at the audacity, directing a mage. Then a shot of fear: Hawke isn’t here, what if Anders doesn’t obey? Anders finishes a third step then stills. Satisfaction hums through Fenris’ body.

Anders doesn’t move a muscle as Fenris walks up behind him. “Such a good pet,” he says close enough to breathe against Anders’ neck. He pulls the shirt over again, savoring the change in Anders’ breathing as the rough cotton slides across his skin. Fenris hums at the sight of the brilliant purple bruise edged in faint green. “Walk ahead of me. I will watch you.” A flush creeps up to Anders’ jaw, over his cheeks. It _is_ cute. Fenris breathes over it and swats his ass. “Go.”

Anders opens the door and holds it for Fenris. He watches Anders take the lead again. Venhedis, but Hawke found a good set of pants on short notice. The current fashion is for skin-tight leather leggings, but these… the crimson fabric fits closely enough that Fenris can see hints of the man’s legs and ass. Enough to tease him, remind him what will be available when they get upstairs. Shame the pants’ll be in shreds tomorrow.

The thin shirt is similarly perfect, a shadow suggesting Anders’ outline, smooth skin of a healer marred only by Fenris’ bite mark. _Anders didn’t heal that._ His thoughts spin down other avenues. Could he have healed the neck hickeys Hawke gave him years ago? Fenris sees no reason not to. Why didn’t he, instead of wearing that scarf? What game is he playing now?

He holds the bedroom door for him, but Fenris just stares. Anders tilts his head in concern, and Fenris stalks in. As soon as he sees Hawke in a chair against the left wall, Fenris says, “Jester.”

“Fenris?” Hawke says, sitting up.

_I should have taken his offer. He must have known I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to._ Fenris banishes those thoughts as he walks to Hawke.

“You told me to use it any time I was uncomfortable or didn’t like the game.”

Hawke is as confused as Anders _looks._ Hawke is in his chair, Anders next to the hearth, and Fenris closest to the bed, facing them.

Anders is casually blocking their way out. Fenris finds alternate routes: leap the bed or climb to a window. It’s enough to calm him. Slightly.

“Quick clarification on rules. Anders, you can talk if anybody uses a safe word. Now, what happened?”

“I don’t know.” Anders glances between Hawke and Fenris.

“Shut up.” Fenris’ mind tumbles through the possibilities. They negotiate in the parlor because of the marks on Anders’ neck. What else could he have orchestrated? Is he responsible for safe words? Did he start the power play games? Did he find the collar? How much did he make seem like Hawke’s idea? _I was a fool to trust him._

“Fenris.” Hawke is not daring to move, elbows on the arms of his chair. “I’ve seen this before, and I don’t like it. What’s going on? Talk to us. You look like you want to run.” _Again. You forgot the word again, Hawke._

“His neck. The marks on his neck.”

Hawke looks at Anders’ collared neck. He shrugs.

“Not now.” Fenris flicks a hand. “Years ago. Covered by the scarf. Why didn’t he heal them, Hawke?” Fenris sits heavily on the bed, puts his head in his hands. He thought they’d had something. “Why use the scarf? To make you feel guilty? To start your negotiations in the parlor?” Fenris finally turns to Anders. “What are you playing at?” But he’s not angry anymore. He doesn’t bother hiding the pain he’s in. Accusations like this, he realizes, will not only push Anders away. They will force Hawke to choose between them: Fenris never wanted that. But if he’s right…

Anders is shaking his head, but Hawke speaks first, standing. “I told him not to.”

Hope floods him. “What?”

“In my defense, this was early.” Hawke sits next to Fenris. “We had just figured out we like playing with power and pain. We learned the hard way. He was turned on when I asked if he wanted hickeys to show off, and of _course_ he agreed. I told him not to heal the marks, so he didn’t. He only wore that horrid scarf one day. I was surprised you remembered it. When I saw he was covering them… Well, we found time to talk and worked it out.”

“But why the limit on marking locations, Hawke? He could heal them now.”

Anders snorts. “What would be the point of that? I _like_ the marks, I _like_ knowing they will be there, under my clothes, long after the sex.” Anders pushes angrily off the corner of the mantle piece to get in Fenris’ face and tugs his shirt even though the shoulder mark is still uncovered. Pain shoots through his eyes. “And _you_ like it, too. Or at least you did.”

Hawke gently touches the teeth-marks. Anders’ glare flinches to Hawke as he turns away and tears off his collar, fumbling with the buckle and tossing it on the chair Hawke had been in a few minutes ago. He stares into the fireplace.

“Kaffas!”

“What does that even mean, Fenris?” Anders shouts into the fire.

“Shit! It means _shit_ , Anders! It means I’m a fucking fool.” Fenris presses the side of his thumb against his forehead. Hawke puts a hand on his back but doesn’t move it. It helps a little. “I’ve messed up; I’ve hurt you in a way neither of us wanted. It’s _so_ hard to trust you. Imagine”—Fenris lifts his head—“if I was walking around in that armor with the sword on the chest. That’s you, all the time, even when you’re fucking naked. And now I’ve ruined a perfectly good situation because I was _afraid._ If you never want to see me again, I’d understand. Fuck. We could take turns staying with Hawke.”

“Maker damn you to the Void, Fenris,” Anders snaps over his shoulder. “Why do you always land on the worst possibility?”

“I don’t know!”

“What did you fear?” Hawke leans closer, comforting.

“I thought Anders was—something. It seems ridiculous now. That he had a bigger game, that he was going use your influence or _something_ to gain power, I…”

Anders’ laugh bubbles up hysterically. “What?” He giggles. “What will I do in your scenario, show up at fancy parties? Hawke can show me off to nobles and say he supports the mage cause?”

Fenris looks at Hawke, who smiles sheepishly and shrugs. _Had they tried this?_

“Or, no! No! I could control you by blood magic, and puppet you to fight for the mage underground.” His voice is high, and he wiggles his fingers over imaginary puppets in front of the fire.

“Anders,” Hawke growls, his hand tensing against the back of Fenris’ jerkin.

“I could send you to your deaths,” Anders’ throat closes as he rants, “martyr you to enrage the nobles in defense of the mages, and they _might_ stand up to Meredith.”

Fenris stares in horror. _Kaffas, Maker Creators Koslun anyone stop him!_

“Anders, don’t do this to yourself,” Hawke says, still not daring to move. _It’s like things won’t get worse if he doesn’t provoke us._

“I’ve thought of it, Hawke.” Anders yells, “It has _crossed_ my _fucking_ mind! Even if you do nothing to support the movement directly, _knowing_ me could kill you both! One angry squad of templars… And it _occurred_ to me it might _work!_ It might be the _one fucking thing_ that finally pushes Kirkwall to get rid of Meredith.” Anders faces Fenris. “But I would never!” His face is a roiling mix of anger and pain. “Fenris, I _am_ free, and I will _never_ use blood magic. And if I can, I _will_ save you both. Whatever it costs.”

Hawke stands, but Anders flinches and Hawke stays put. “I hate it when you say things like that.”

“I will not have you _die_ for _me._ ”

“We will not die, Anders, and neither will you.” Hawke lifts his palms to Anders.

“Ironic, isn’t it? Everything I want to escape, I escape by coming here, making the worst possibilities more likely.”

“Anders, I’m sorry,” Fenris whispers. “I didn’t mean to… cause you pain.”

Anders laughs, high and brittle again.

“You know what I mean.” Fenris shifts on the mattress.

Anders shakes his head. “You help me escape this pain. Both of you. You make what I am bearable.”

“No,” Fenris grips the edge of the bed, staring at the tiled floor. “You’re not”—

“I’m a monster,” Anders bites out then hiccups.

Hawke takes a step. “Don’t ever talk about my boyfriend that way.”

“I’m the one saying it, Hawke!”

“Well, stop! You’re no monster. You’re a man. I love you, and _no one_ talks about people I love that way.”

One last maniacal hiccup bubbles out as Hawke crosses to Anders, who buries his face in Hawke’s arms. “I don’t deserve this.”

“I’m sorry,” Fenris pleads from the bed. “I’m such a fool.”

“No, not that. Not _you_. What have you done?” Anders pushes Hawke away. “I don’t deserve you, or your love.”

“You do,” Hawke says, “and you’re getting it either way.”

Anders relents and allows Hawke to draw him in again.

“Anders,” Fenris says.

“Shut up, Fenris,” Hawke and Anders chorus, muffled.

Fenris’ laugh starts small, a chuckle. As it continues, they stare like he’s a madman, and it grows. He speeds through chortling and laughing straight for guffawing. He doubles over, laughing hard, and every time he’s got it under control, he looks at the smiles of Anders and Hawke and breaks up again.

“We’ve broken him,” Anders marvels.

“This is no worse than you, actually.”

“Not helping!” Fenris gasps between bouts of laughter. They chuckle.

“Oh, no, we’ll get caught in it.”

“Whatever you do, don’t laugh, Hawke.” Anders is smiling in Hawke’s arms.

“Whatever you do, don’t think about laughing,” he retorts.

There’s a pause where they’re considering him, and he catches his breath and looks up at them, tears streaming down his face, and the bewilderment in their eyes sets him off again.

“Poor man needs help.”

“We’re a mess, Anders. How the fade can we help?”

Anders grins. “We could all be a mess together.”

Hawke chuckles. “Yeah.”

Hawke and Anders plop on either side of Fenris and wrap their arms around him. It soothes him in the middle of his maniacal laughter, and the laughter twists. He gasps and he’s sobbing, “I’m sorry.”

“Shh,” says Anders. “It’s okay. We’re here.”

That’s a wonder.

“We’re so fucking fragile. I did not understand. I didn’t _know_.”

“What didn’t you understand?” Hawke bends to wipe his tears.

“What this does for Anders.” Fenris turns to him, gripping one of their knees in each hand: cotton, silk. “You… hold together, because of the escape you get here.”

“Yes.” Anders bends to touch his forehead to Fenris’ hair.

“Well, I’m sorry I ruined tonight. Kaffas, I hope it’s only tonight.”

“I’m not sure we’re that fragile. We’re all still here, for starters.” Hawke’s voice is low, and he’s watching Anders.

Fenris chuckles, but it doesn’t threaten to grow again. His hair falls in his face, and he loses sight of Hawke. He can hear them breathe.

Anders pushes his hair back, brushing as much as he can behind a long ear. “Fenris, not to put too fine a point on it, but I was looking forward to everything you wanted to do tonight. Do you… still want to?”

Fenris turns back at the touch.


	4. Pleasure in Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smut chapter. Finally! Sheesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [FeelGoodArt](http://www.feelgoodart.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for the final drawing in [this (nsfw) series](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/feelgoodart/150322000632). Fenris and Anders put the last position to good use this chapter.
> 
> Edit #1: I re-read this chapter and discovered that the ending could still use some work. The only substantial changes are in Fenris' POV section at the end.
> 
> Edit #2 makes the fact that Anders is having a good time clearer. I hope you enjoy the result. *indecent eyebrow waggle*

Hawke sees the pain and forgiveness on Anders’ face, and he gets up to find it mirrored on Fenris’.

Fenris says, “I want to kiss”—before Anders closes his eyes and Fenris sort of chokes. He wraps hands behind Anders’ head to kiss him. Anders presses up Fenris’ back.

 _Holy fuck. So, that happened._ Hawke backs up and sits right on the discarded collar. He picks it up, still watching their frantic kiss. _We survived that._ Hawke doesn’t understand his luck, but he smiles and rattles the buckle on the collar. The kiss slows as they smile, eyes still closed. Fenris traces a fingertip where the collar should be. Anders shivers, and their eyes open, dark and locked on each other as they break their kiss. Fenris is still holding onto him. Hawke rattles it again.

“Our boyfriend is seeking attention.” Fenris smiles.

“So demanding,” Anders purrs, sliding a hand firmly to Fenris’ ass.

“Only checking in. Then you can carry on without me.” The buckle rattles again as Hawke waves the collar carelessly.

Fenris hums and releases Anders.

“We negotiated assuming the collar and its rules would be in place. Do you want it? We don’t have to every time.”

“I’m good either way.” Fenris is studying Anders’ profile.

“I like it. Let’s use the collar,” Anders says, eager.

“All right.” Hawke stands. “So, to be painfully clear: same plan we negotiated downstairs?”

“Yes.” Fenris’ eyes flick to Hawke as he steps close.

“Yes, please.” Anders tugs his shirt again to show his old bite, drawing Fenris’ predatory gaze.

“Anders, that’s not helping anyone focus,” Hawke says teasingly.

He grins. “Don’t expect me to apologize.”

“You’re both okay now?” They seem to be.

Fenris’ gaze returns to Hawke. “Have we ever been okay? But yes, I want this again.”

“Same. It’s… better, somehow, in spite of our crazy. Because of it?”

“Maybe because of it.” Hawke nods.

“Do I give my safe word again?” Fenris asks.

“Let’s all do safe words again.”

“Jester.” Fenris thumbs the red fabric on Anders’ knee.

“Wiggams.” Anders shivers.

“Ketojan. Use it once to pause; three or more times and we skip to aftercare.”

“Suppose we say it twice?” Fenris asks and squeezes Anders’ thigh.

Anders snickers.

“Shut it, you,” Hawke says, but he’ll take snark over their broken laughter any day. He steps behind Anders, one knee on the mattress. It’s even hotter to put the collar on Anders as he’s devoured by Fenris’ eyes. Fenris is undoing the toggles on his own vest. “Be good to my pet.”

“Always,” he promises, and the vest slides to the floor.

As soon as Hawke finishes and steps away to sit again, Fenris unbuckles the belt around Anders’ shirt and drops it on his vest. He grabs two fistfuls of loose fabric and twists tight, straining the whole shirt. Anders sucks in a breath and puts his hands lightly on Fenris’ arms. Hawke imagines the muscles shifting as Fenris tugs in for another frantic kiss then wrenches apart. For a moment, nothing happens, but he pulls steadily and the cotton gives way. The rip echoes through the room. Still frantic, Fenris pushes rags off Anders’ shoulders. He pulls Anders onto his lap and tugs his head down for a deeper kiss, scraping nails over Anders’ exposed skin.

“Mmph.” Anders grips Fenris just above his elbows, but Fenris grabs his ass to _stand up_ , turn, and dump Anders on the bed. “Uff.”

“Head on the pillow, Pet,” Fenris says, walking along the edge of the bed. Anders’ head touches the pillow just before teeth trace along his bare chest. Hawke admires Fenris’ leather-clad legs sprawled over the side of the bed, bare feet pushing against the tiles.

“Eyah!” Anders grabs Fenris by the shoulders and kicks out as teeth dig in where Anders’ pec meets his ribs, bruising but never breaking the skin. Hawke remembers Anders’ reaction their first night with the three of them together and watches Anders’ eyes glaze with pleasure even more quickly tonight. Hawke is tempted to give commands that limit Anders’ movement, but… he wants to know what they do.

“Uuungh!” Anders arches and hisses in a breath as Fenris presses lips to skin and sucks.

Fenris taps Anders’ hands off his shoulders. “No pushing.”

 _Oh, fuck, Anders lost control enough to push. Is he that far gone?_ Hawke considers. _Or is he being bratty?_

“Hold your wrist in your hand and keep both above your head.” Fenris takes a moment to admire the mark as Anders obeys. “I’m not done.”

Anders’ moan of anticipation ends in a begging whimper. He’s on full display for Fenris (and Hawke) in his loose red pants and nothing else. Fenris bites and sucks another mark mirroring the first one, encouraged by Anders’ sounds, which change in quality but not intensity between the pain and pleasure. He follows Anders rather than keep him pinned, and Hawke admires the arch of Anders’ back and his small desperate yell. Fenris switches back to the first, briefly. _Sweet fucking Maker, he’s making them match._

Fenris wipes the sweat from Anders’ forehead as he pants, unfocused with pain and pleasure. Hawke catches the look on Fenris’ face in profile. It’s proud and reverent, wonder at Anders’ pure reactions and determination to extract more. “Soon, we’ll give Hawke a show,” Fenris says, and Anders moans desperately.

Hawke unfastens the leggings to his noble costume, pushes down his smalls, and allows his tunic to drop over his growing erection. He drapes his hand near the hem of his tunic but doesn’t allow himself to touch. Yet. His skin hums, and he lets his breathing get shallow, holding his breath briefly between inhale and exhale.

“You’re almost ready.” Fenris runs his fingers over Anders’ skin from nipples to hips. Anders squirms, still pinning his own hand above his head.

Fenris unties the red pants, slides under the waistband, then pulls. _Kiiirisssh!_ The cotton tears as Fenris pulls the pants off, too impatient to shred them completely.

Anders is more than half-hard.

“I’m leaving a present for Hawke.” Fenris climbs over Anders and bites him near his hip bone on his far side, but Hawke can’t see where. Anders moans more than he yells for that one, and Hawke can see him sinking deeper into his subspace. His muscles are going lax, his eyes glazed, his face sweet. Fenris presses on the finished mark to make him squirm.

“Spread.” Fenris taps the inside of his knees, and then sprawls and ducks under Anders’ far leg so it’s arched over his chest. Anders is vulnerable to those teeth, from knee to… other knee. Fenris props his head on one hand, elbow on the sheets and Anders’ other thigh against his forearm.

Fenris’ look is predatory, demanding more from Anders, teeth smiling indecently. Anders resurfaces enough to give him the begging, worried, lustful look that drives Hawke crazy. His cock throbs. Instead of taking himself in hand, he tugs the smooth tunic. It whispers over his skin. He sucks in a small breath and holds it.

Fenris pulls the thigh over his chest to his mouth. From here, Hawke can’t tell whether he’s using teeth or lips, but Anders bucks and moans which is all Hawke really cares about: he’s enjoying making it good for Anders. Fenris rolls with the movement again to stay on Anders. This time, when he’s done Hawke can see the teeth-marks spreading into a single small bruise.

“I enjoy marking you, but I love the way you take it.”

Anders is relaxed between bites, breathing heavily and waiting. He described it to Hawke once: _My mind is a blank slate: anything you write spells pleasure. The more intense the better._ Hawke believes it, the way he responds when he’s like this.

“I haven’t told you not to move, but you stay. You want it that much.” Fenris moves a few inches closer to Anders’ now-hard cock to bite his thigh again.

Anders arches and moans with each bite, flushed. Maker, he looks good: lean muscles ripple under smooth skin as he strains to keep his arms up. Hawke wants to see more of Fenris, too, but he’s willing to wait. Fenris bends and bites Anders once more, and his cock presses against Fenris’ cheek. Hawke finally presses the thin tunic between his palm and cock.

“Lift.” Fenris shoves the leg up, and Hawke sees the trail of marks Fenris left. He flips to kneel between Anders’ knees. “Legs flat, Pet. You will _not_ let them leave the bed. Not a bit; do you understand?” Fenris’ words are harsh and commanding, but that reverent, demanding look is back. He’s going to push Anders’ pleasure as far as he can.

Anders nods and presses his legs into the mattress, and Fenris is visible again. There’s a bulge in his pants, but it’s the line of him Hawke missed. Now he’s kneeling, crouching forward, and Hawke admires the curve of his back, the tilt of his head as he smiles and leans closer. Anders is flat except for his head, tilted up to watch Fenris with glazed eyes.

“Do you want your cock in my mouth? Answer me.”

Anders pauses, struggling to form the word: “Yes.” It’s bringing Anders out of his daze to form words, but Fenris has every right to demand what he needs in their game.

“Hm, I don’t believe you. Beg me. Now.” Fenris is right next to Anders’ cock.

“Please, Fenris, please suck me. Maker, your breath!”

“Not good enough, Pet. Try again.” Fenris bites the unmarked inner thigh.

“Oh, fuck! Please! I want—I _need_ to know what your mouth feels like on my cock. Fucking take me! Maker, please, Fenris…” As Fenris licks the bite, Anders slides into whimpers. Then: “Please, please suck me, I need it, I’ll do anything. You can bite it as hard as you want, I just need your lips first, _please_ suck me please anything I’ll do whatever you want, fuckingpleaseFenrisineedit.” The desire pours from Anders.

“Anything?”

“Yes,” Anders pants. “Please please please.”

“Don’t cum.” Fenris wraps his mouth around Anders’ cock. Hawke smiles, but then loses his breath.

Anders’ body bucks, but he follows the commands of not lifting his legs off the bed and holding his hands up. He’s so fucking good. His back arches, hips down, and there’s sweat on the red-and-gold sheets. Fenris plants his hands on the mattress and holds the tip of Anders’ cock in his mouth, _doing something_ with his tongue. Imagining is better than knowing, and Hawke wraps his thumb and forefinger around the tip of his own cock. He tugs.

“Oh, fuck yesyesyes please.” Anders has forgotten why he’s allowed to talk; Fenris smirks around his cock. He’ll handle their pet’s punishment. In a minute.

Fenris slides down, taking Anders deeper. Then again. And again.

“Oh, fuck yes, thank you, oh fuck don’t cum don’t cum…”

Now Fenris stops, giving Anders a chance to control himself. “I asked you to beg me, Pet. I didn’t ask for commentary. Time for your punishment. As hard as I want, you said?”

Damn, this is the part he’s been most worried about. He knows Fenris won’t go beyond what they’d agreed on, no matter what he says as they play. Anders had said it might be terrible or it might be fucking amazing. Hawke licks his own palm, coating it in spit and hoping for fucking amazing.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry…”

 _Fuck_ Anders plays this game well.

“Shut up, Pet.”

As does Fenris. How had he ever worried Fenris’ aversion to rope would fuck this up?

Anders’ mouth shuts, but he whimpers and begs with his eyes. Fenris sheathes his lips over his teeth and slides down over Anders’ cock again. Anders tenses from the pleasure or the anticipation or both. Hawke holds his breath with him. This time, Fenris’ lips pull back on the return stroke.

“Unnngh!” The sound Anders makes, _oh fuck_. Definitely fucking amazing. Hawke wraps his slicked hand around his cock. They continue like this stroke after stroke: Anders panting, relaxed and glaze-eyed as Fenris slides his lips back down then moaning and struggling to follow the rules as he scrapes up his cock. Anders is unfocused enough he probably can’t see the effort Fenris is taking to keep his teeth light and watch for changes. Fenris speeds up slowly. Hawke takes deeper breaths to make the pleasure that’s been building spread through his body. Not for the first time, Hawke wishes he enjoyed pain half as much as Anders does.

“Wiggams,” Anders pants.

“Anders?” Fenris is concerned as he looks up.

Hawke grabs the arms of his chair, but stops himself. _He only used it once._ Hawke does not leap to their side.

“No, it’s good, I just need to, fuck, need to stop or I will cum.” Anders sits up, gasping. _Oh, thank the Maker._ Anders likes his limits pushed, but Hawke worries about pushing too far.

Fenris grins his indecent, toothy grin, just as relieved as Hawke. “We can change positions.”

Anders groans, remembering.

“You can cum as long as my fingers are in your ass,” Fenris puts on his commanding persona again, but his eyes are mischievous.

“Yes, okay, that,” Anders agrees eagerly. “Yes, go. Wiggams.”

“Wait here for me to get settled.”

Anders watches, still sex-drunk. Fenris peels his leather leggings off with his smalls and sits with his feet on the tiled floor, facing Hawke. He glances at Hawke, who twitches with the effort of staying in this chair. Hawke’s been wanting this, and it’s worth waiting. Fenris looks around, and Hawke grabs a bottle of oil from the floor and tosses it to Fenris. He tucks it between his legs to warm.

“Kneel here, Pet.” Fenris touches the bed to the left of his thighs. “Face the headboard. Put your elbows here: I get full access.”

Hawke doesn’t fully understand why Anders likes being commanded in bed. When they were working it out, years ago, Anders had said it was nice not to have to think. Later, he added that Anders trusted Hawke—and now presumably Fenris—to direct him and getting those directions deepens his trust.

What Hawke knows is it works for Anders, and the idea of Fenris with ‘full access’ to Anders is fucking hot. Hawke runs a hand under his tunic, brushing nipples and using nails when he feels like it. He’s switched back to shallow breathing, holding his breath to build the pleasure humming in his hips.

Anders kneels and bends across Fenris’ lap to obey. Fenris wraps a hand over the back of his collar, and Anders presses his elbows onto the bed, staring at Hawke. Hawke takes his cock in hand again.

“Close your eyes,” Fenris says.

Anders hesitates, so Hawke arches an eyebrow, waiting. Hawke nods at Fenris when he’s done it.

 _Smack._ Anders jerks and mewls from the impact of Fenris’ hand on his ass. Hawke’s grip tightens when he sees the bite-mark Fenris left for him: a nearby bruise where Anders’ hip meets his ass.

“That is for hesitating, Mage. Be good now.”

Anders whimpers, eyes still closed.

_Goddamn, they’re beautiful when they play._

Fenris digs fingernails over his back, ass, and thighs, leaving fading pink trails. Anders trembles, and his whimpers turn to moans.

“Your body is so fun to play with, Pet. So responsive,” Fenris says, as if Anders were responding solely for his benefit. Fenris pulls another moan from him and then moves his hand from Anders’ neck to his chest, palm up. “The sounds you made when I let my teeth touch your cock…” Fenris catches a nipple between his fingers and pinches and twists until Anders gasps. Hawke can barely hear: “That’s it, Pet, let me give you this.”

Anders groans, head hanging between his locked arms, eyes closed, lips parted as he pants and quivers from Fenris’ touch on his inner thigh.

“How would you react to more, I wonder?” Fenris presses along the new bite-marks. More: the promised fingering. “Would it be too much for you? I could spare you that.”

Anders whimpers pleadingly and leans back against Fenris’ hand. Fenris grins wickedly and presses Anders’ ass back into position. His other hand ghosts down his stomach and over his cock: sensitive from the rough treatment earlier. Anders gasps and moans in pleasure again. Hawke is wrapped up in what’s happening on the bed; he quivers and fights to keep controlled. The effort amplifies his own pleasure.

Fenris fumbles with the bottle, getting oil all over his left hand. He slides the bottle to the floor then presses the back of Anders’ neck with his dry hand. Hawke strokes himself as Anders lowers his neck to the mattress, ass still high. Fenris’ left hand reaches between Anders’ legs from behind to stroke his cock, balls sliding against his forearm. Anders gasps and arches his back to point his ass high in the air, spreading his knees reflexively.

Fenris regards Hawke and catches a breath to command, “Open your eyes. Look at Hawke.”

Anders cranes his head and the lust on his face doubles. Hawke is struck by the sight of his men in his bed, fucking and eyeing _him._ Even if, Maker forbid, this relationship implodes, this image could get him through a thousand lonely nights.

“Tell Hawke without words what you need.”

Anders glances back at his ass with that pleading look. Hawke nearly gets up to fuck him, but limits himself to a grunt. _Whose bright idea was it to sit and watch them play?_

“Show him you’re enjoying this. Show off for him.”

Anders moans, and Hawke feels it in his balls. He controls the speed and pressure of his hand to keep his body from twitching. Fenris strokes Anders’ cock as he says: “When was the last time he watched you cum? Will he cum watching us, stroking himself?” _Fenris, you frikkin know I will._ Hawke growls but doesn’t trust words to come out in order. “Keep showing him what you need, so he can watch me give it to you.”

Fenris moves his oiled hand back over Anders’ balls then up to explore his exposed sensitive crack. Anders gasps desperately, ear pressed against the sheets, accessible to Fenris and exposed to Hawke. Fenris presses an oiled finger against his pucker, teasing the sensitive rim. He glimpses Hawke, and his cock twitches under Anders. _Maker when Anders cums it will be right on his thighs, and I can use that._

Hawke grabs the soft, clean sock he’d found while Anders was changing. He pulls it over his cock to protect his clothes and keeps playing with the pressure of his strokes to control his buildup.

Fenris slides a slick finger inside Anders, and his taut body relaxes into liquid held up by bones. Fenris slides out and adds another finger on the slow return stroke. Anders hisses and gasps, pressing back into Fenris’ hand. Fenris hums. His reverent fascination is back.

Hawke doesn’t focus on anything particular; he watches their shapes and intensity as Fenris finger-fucks Anders, who writhes and moans across his lap. Hawke’s pleasure is embers under his skin, demanding that he buck into his own hand, but he keeps it under control. 

Anders slips: “Oh, fu-” Fenris has added a third finger. Anders whimpers: he knows he’s broken a rule.

“Bad pet.” Fenris shoves his neck into the mattress, and the rebuke pushes Anders into orgasm. Hawke’s control unravels: Anders gives a strangled and prolonged shout as Fenris’ fingers drive into him. Fenris is concentrating, probably hitting Anders’ sweet spot. When his cock produces nothing, Fenris strokes it with his other hand. Soon, ropes of cum land on Fenris as Anders muffles his doubled shout on Fenris’ leg. Sparks jump between his splayed fingers on the sheets, no more voluntary than his strangled swear. Hawke doesn’t hold back his orgasm anymore. He breathes deeply, letting the smoldering pleasure spread again. He’s made of embers—no, lava: thick hot pleasure flowing up his body. When he’s sated, it’s quiet, and Hawke realizes he’d… been louder than he intended.

Fenris lies an uncoordinated Anders down, half an eye on the cum glistening across his legs. He scoots back to lay him gently. When Anders is settled, Fenris trails short nails up his back, and Anders hums. Hawke nearly laughs at the frustration on Fenris’ face. Instead, he drops the sock next to the chair, strips his shirt and boots, and joins them on Fenris’ other side.

Fenris looks at Hawke, demanding and possessive. Hawke’s never asked him to switch this quickly and unsated. Hawke devises a strategy, discarding ideas Fenris would never stand for.

“Tell me what you want,” he commands.

“Everything.” Fenris swallows, choking down his lust to form words. “I want you both to cum again, I want my cock down Anders’ throat, I want to fuck your ass. Hawke, please”—

“No. I didn’t say I’d give it to you, I was simply curious.” Hawke trails his fingers through Anders’ warm cum on Fenris’ skin. “Do you like this?”

Fenris’ frustration and control slip. “Yes,” he moans. _Perfect._

“Then I’ll get you off.” Hawke leans close to whisper “Leave everything to me, Fenris. It’s my turn to take care of you.”

###

Fenris growls, and he’s not sure if it’s a growl of rebellion or need.

Hawke smiles and moves back, planning the scene. “Lie in the middle of the bed. Get none of that mess on my sheets. Anders, lie next to him.”

Fenris obeys, more because it fits the game than out of desire. Anders wraps around his left side, close and boneless. It’s frustrating, the sated man taken from him but _right there_. Fenris regrets not negotiating the option to fuck him like last time. Hawke sprawls on his other side, pressed close to pin Fenris’ arm against his body but allowing him to squirm against them. He can smell musk and sex on their skin.

Anders hums again and Fenris pulls him tighter. He squirms, less from pleasure now than to tease Fenris, and it works. He moans into Anders’ hair.

“Maker, I frikkin love watching you two.” Hawke slides over Anders’ cum again. “Thank you for making Anders cum on you, Fenris, like I asked.” To Fenris’ surprise, Anders’ soft cock twitches against his thigh. _They’ve done this before._ This time, it’s a thrill to peek into their past.

“Anders, I want you on Fenris’ chest and ear. Firm touch, not too much teeth, occasional fingernails on his nipples.” Fenris gets dizzy at this succinct description of what he likes. “Fenris, let him.” Frustration surges again. He wants to _take_ more than receive.

Anders slides up, putting one arm over Fenris’ to reach his ear with his mouth. Fenris rolls to unwedge his other arm, and quickly tangles that hand in Anders’ hair to pull him in for a frantic kiss. He has to show him… something. He doesn’t know the words, but he has to make sure Anders understands anyway. Anders pulls back, then relaxes into it. Hawke’s teeth flare sharp pain into Fenris’ shoulder from behind.

“Mmph.” Fenris jumps. Hawke’s bite is too sudden, and the pain sings through his haze of arousal. He releases Anders, and Hawke caresses the bite in lazy circles. The touch feels _good._

“Anders. Move out of Fenris’ reach.”

 _Kaffas._ Fenris watches as the smirking man scoots back on the bed. He turns to Hawke, but before he can say anything Hawke claims his mouth. Scents of leather and sex linger on his skin, the flavor of wine on his tongue. Hawke breaks off and stares into Fenris’ eyes.

Fenris breaks that intense look, and Hawke leans close and rumbles in his ear: “Do you want to cum tonight?”

“Yes. Just let me…”

“No. Do you trust me?”

 _What a question._ “You know I do.”

“Then let me get you off.” Hawke pulls away enough to reach down and play with Anders’ cum on his legs. “You will love it, I promise. Let me do this for you.” Hawke’s voice is soothing, but the slide of his caress is driving Fenris crazy.

Fenris needs more. “Can I touch you?”

Hawke hums. “You can hold, but no nails and no force. Will you let me get you off?”

Fenris grabs his silk-clad thigh like a lifeline. “Yes. I trust you, yes.”

“Good. Anders, come back.”

 _Wait. Kaffas._ “Hawke, can I”— Fenris nearly sits up.

“You can hold him, too, same rules.”

Fenris’ muscles slacken.

“Now, lie back,” Hawke says. “Let Anders touch you.” Fenris lies down and bites his lip, turning his head to give Anders access but grabbing his bare leg, too.

“Good,” Hawke rumbles when Anders’ lips pull at Fenris’ earlobe, eager to please Hawke. It’s worth it, but they’re taking their sweet fucking time: sated themselves, they’ll drive him insane. Fenris imagines what Hawke sees: Anders pressing along his chest tattoos while Hawke toys with the cum across his legs, Anders’ mouth on his ear, his long hair pulled to one side.

“More,” Fenris pants. “Venhedis, Hawke, I felt Anders cumming, have mercy.” Their intensity before and their languid movements now are completely unfair.

“This is enough for now.” Hawke slides through the cum, coating his entire palm. _Is he going to—?_

Anders’ lips tug hard, and Fenris’ body spasms. He presses heels and head into the bed and arches against their hands, moaning, “Hawke…”

Neither pushes him down, but before his muscles release, Hawke slides his cum-slicked hand over Fenris’ cock. _Kaffas, he is!_ Still arched, his body twitches as Anders applies gentle teeth to his earlobe. He must be watching as Hawke strokes several times, a gloriously wet sound. Fenris’ body crashes back to the mattress.

“Oh, _FUCK_ ,” Fenris gasps, wondering how he didn’t cum.

“Oh, fuck,” Hawke agrees calmly, eyes sparkling.

Anders hums in his ear, warm and here, finding a nipple with the prescribed firm touch. He’s so _fucking close._ Can he take it without Hawke noticing?

“Let me give this to you,” Hawke says.

“I need more,” Fenris pants, trying to form words through the sensations: slow slick hand; teeth and dry fingers. “I-I don’t know what.” He grips their legs, Anders on one side and Hawke on the other. He has two men in bed and it isn’t enough?

“Stop trying to take it.” Hawke’s hand slides slow and smooth and wet, but not—something. “It’s yours, but you have to let me give it to you.” Hawke shifts to rest an elbow on the bed and uses his dry hand to stroke Fenris’ hair. Fenris pulls their thighs. “No, Fenris, shhh,” he murmurs in his bedroom voice. “Relax. Let me. Trust me. Feel it. We’ve got time. All night if we need.” Anders hums at Hawke’s words. The hand in his hair feels good, soothing.

The part of Fenris driving him forward, demanding completion _now_ , hitches and slows like a runner with a leg cramp.

“What do you feel? Right now, what are you feeling? Words or sounds,” Hawke says. It’s a command, but it soothes Fenris.

Fenris knows what Hawke’s doing, and part of him is angry at being manipulated. But his touch, his voice, what he’s offering… feels so good. _I trust him. I trust Hawke._

He’d been centered on his lovers’ actions and responses, how it wasn’t enough, but now he concentrates on the pleasure driving him. He tries to describe it, but swearing falls from his lips instead, half in Tevene. His pleasure is coiled low in his gut, fed by Hawke’s touch, growing bigger. Its presence is a warm tingle through his tattoos. Anders bumps his arm, and the pleasure jumps along the tattoos, and under it along his nerves, connecting Hawke and Anders. Fenris is aware of his entire body at once. Motion from Hawke and Anders makes him aware of them, too: focused on him, touching him, an extension of him.

Fenris gives up. He’ll stay here forever if Hawke needs it. He’ll gladly go insane with need if it suits Hawke’s whim. His muscles turn to jelly. He’s open, raw. His pleasure grows faster, overtaking him, and he lets it.

Hawke’s fist twists around Fenris’ cock. _There!_ Anders’ hand curls to flick Fenris’ nipple. Nothing is between Fenris and the sensations. His orgasm hits him hard, and he notes his surprise but lets it flow through him. His pleasure uncoils and fills him, shouting and hollowing him out. Hawke’s strokes get even warmer and wetter as his cum mixes with Anders’, and he shakes hard. A generous affection fills his hollowed skin. The sensation terrifies Fenris, but he lets it, and pleasure wipes the fear away.

When his orgasm finishes with him, it leaves Fenris a wrung-out rag left to dry on the bed. He’s barely aware of Hawke cleaning them up and then asking Anders and removing the collar. He’s grateful they settle on either side of him, arms wrapped around him and each other.

Hawke’s bulk is pressing Fenris’ arm to one side, head on a pillow. Anders is nestled in his armpit, lying on his other arm.

“Are you comfortable?” Fenris says, unable to move.

Hawke hums a sleepy affirmative, but Anders shifts and mumbles grumpily, “Was till you asked. There. Now I am.”

Fenris kisses his copper hair. _Sex-induced affection,_ he reminds himself as he drifts into sleep. If he’s smiling, everyone in the room is asleep, so no one will know.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, he safeworded because the pain was going to make him cum, and Fenris told him not to cum. I don't know what to tell you except this happens sometimes. Crazy, huh?


	5. Wild Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I re-write canon by adding only one line of dialog and changing the context. Drastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So buried in the comments for Curtain, I mentioned that in this AU, the infamous "wild dog" conversation never happened. It's a mess. You insult each other like that, there's no going back.  
> Then.  
> Then my brain remembered the fics I've loved that use canon dialog in a new, creative way. ("Don't Get Used to It" springs to mind. My bookmark has additional warnings and tags.) Self-same brain insisted (at TWO in the morning!?!) that I write this chapter.  
> Hope you like it. *sheepish grin*

Anders rolls onto his back, stretching and grinning. Fenris moans an objection to losing the contact and follows him, teasing gentle nibbles on his chest in a pale shadow of the bites that left deepening purple marks on his chest and thighs last night.

Anders chuckles and protests, “No more biting!” He playfully bats at Fenris’ head.

Fenris growls and nibbles down Anders’ ribs. Hawke rolls to one side, laying his head on one folded arm, watching them.

Anders laughs again and says, “I know it isn't my place to criticize, but... are you sure about Fenris? He seems less a man to me than a wild dog.”

Fenris growls playfully and nips a little harder, making Anders yelp.

Hawke laughs at them, but tamps his laughter down enough to deadpan: “You just don't know him.”

“I know as much as I'm ever likely to,” Anders says, smoothing one hand down Fenris’ shoulder and back.

Fenris lays his head on Anders’ chest. “That's right, mage,” he says, listening to his heart, his breath.

Anders runs his fingers through Fenris’ white hair. “He has let one bad experience color his whole world,” he says sadly. Then he teases Fenris with: “Surely you want someone more openminded?”

Fenris catches his hand and kisses the knuckles. “A mage and a hypocrite,” he says lightly. “What company you keep.” Fenris hums and releases the hand. Anders sighs and tousles his hair one last time before tucking that hand behind his head. He settles with his other hand against Fenris’ back to feel him breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric might lie to obfuscate details about someone's personal life. A nice blending of truth and lies to hide even the possibility that Fenris and Anders ever shared affection.   
> I have reasons for "blaming" Varric so much ~~besides my secret crush on him~~.


	6. Afterword: At the Hanged Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The triad is finally comfortable hanging out in public together. Varric is... surprised.

A Few Nights Later

“How does that even work, Hawke?”

Hawke flips Varric off by way of explanation. “You see, Varric, when three men really love each other…”

Anders and Fenris snort in unison, one tucked under each of Hawke’s arms. Hawke rolls his eyes.  _Thanks, not helping._

“I believe two out of three have demonstrated my point,” Varric says with a wave of his hand. “Sorry, but… you two don’t generally get along.”

Fenris shrugs. “We’re working through it. It helps that Hawke doesn’t allow political talk at his estate.” _Well, he could have said much worse._

Varric nods and regards Anders, who smirks. _Uh, oh._

“I like tattoos.”

Hawke’s heart skips a beat. _He what?_

Fenris twists around Hawke to stare at Anders, maybe to see if he’s being serious.

Varric blinks and says, “What?”

Anders tilts his head, still smirking. “Tattoos? They’re attractive. You’ve probably noticed Fenris has them. It helps.”

Varric guffaws and Fenris smiles and looks away, but his hand drifts up Hawke’s back to bump Anders’ elbow then back again. Hawke remembers _all_ the chances Anders has had to admire those tattoos and mutters into Anders’ ear, “Thanks. Now I’m this close to dragging you off to a closet and having my way with you.”

Anders smiles at him. _Maker help me._ His voice drops low and quiet.

“Your way with me helps, too.”

Fenris smiles into his drink and makes their excuses for a good hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this work, but I have *ahem* a few drafts for future works with these three. For both Treats and Curtain I added a morning-after chapter just before posting the next work, but that probably won't be needed this time. For once, the sex itself went smoothly and everyone knew where everyone else stood. Communication is amazing!  
> It's easiest and most fun to write if I know some reader is going to love the kink I'm writing about. I have a feederism draft I can hardly wait to get to, and the request for ropes looks like it's going to be a lot of fun. (Hawke and Anders only, this particular Fenris can't stand even watching bondage.) So if you have a request and a Tumblr, pop by my writing Tumblr at starlanellfic and message/ask me about a kink. If you don't have a Tumblr, feel free to make a comment below. I might not use it, but there's a good chance I will.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos really help me keep motivated. Thank you so much to all of my readers, no matter what you're comfortable with for all that.


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